Always Leave ‘Em Laughing

What’s so funny about living with chronic pain? Actually, a great deal of it is humorous. We often have to put down our self-pity, place our fear on the back burner and just open our eyes and look around. I know, it may not be pretty but at least we’re still breathing, more or less.

I consider myself fortunate for a number of reasons. First of all, my father was a funny man. He loved to make others laugh and loved bringing joy into their lives. I also have been stricken from the earliest days of my disability with a condition that always brings a smile to the face. Awe, come on. How can you or the person you’re talking to not smile when you say, “I have pain in my ass.”

I remember shortly after I had to resign my position as Director of Nursing at a hospital in California, I went by to say hello to two of my favorite staff doctors at that particular hospital. They asked me about my rapid exit because they were curious and also were kind enough to miss me. In trying to explain to them the unusual nature of my illness, which was at that time an inflammation of the sacroiliac joints, I was reminded for the hundredth time of the ridiculous aspects of the whole scenario. One of the kindly older doctors asked me what my prognosis was, or rather what the future held for me. All I could think to say at that time was, “Well, as I see it, one day I’ll just be walking down the street and my ass will fall off.”

Strangely enough, my sitter has diminished in size over the years, an ounce at a time which is really disappointing because it used to be one of my best features. I now find myself in the strange predicament of pretty much looking the same, coming or going.

Most of us with disabilities for many years who have seen many physicians and had multiple procedures, tests, x-rays and other assaults committed upon our poor pain wracked bodies, know there is no longer dignity nor modesty in our lives. I’m not certain which is the procedure I find the most hilarious, in a dark humor way. Two that would definitely be near the top of the list would be the annual breast exam and the preparation for a colonoscopy. As an aging woman I am on an intimate basis with gravity and its many forms and functions. Thankfully, my primary care doctor is a female, which helps a bit, but she is also much too young and perky. I hate perky. I like her, so I am torn in my emotions. For the annual breast exam, for all of you guys out there who don’t know about it, a female has to remove her top and place her arms out to the sides as her doctor stands across the room to look for anomalies. As we age, we are painfully aware that our breasts are reaching toward our waists and when our arms are out to the side, they jiggle as much as the mammary glands do. I am thankful there is not a large fan in the room because the consequences would be sad indeed if not downright dangerous. This experience is a reminder of the annual skin check when a woman my age has to pick up a breast for the doctor to examine the skin beneath. During both of these exams I cannot help but remember an old camp song we used to sing that went something like this. “Do your ears hang low, can you wave them to and fro; can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow?” It’s not my ears, of course, that are in play here.

The second procedure I find totally intolerable, because it’s intrinsically horrible and because I always have a sore sitter, is the colonoscopy preparation. I know, logically they can’t see anything unless the “tube” is clear, but oh my, the act of getting it all cleaned out is enough to make one want to hug the bathroom rug, while lying on a pillow shouting, “Just hose me off because I can’t get up again.”

The last time I went through this will truly be the last time for me. I had towels strewn like hopscotch squares from the bed to the bathroom. I told my husband he had my permission to move out for the night but was grateful he didn’t because the blasting powder they give you to swallow can be so devastating you can become dizzy. Is this not the 21st. century? Can’t we find some better way to perform a look see at the bowels? Perhaps just swallowing rope would be more humane and then wait for someone to pull it out the other end.

During one time in my career as a nurse I worked on a medical/surgical ward and one of the surgeons, a most interesting former Olympic skier from somewhere in the middle of Europe, used to prepare his patients for a colonoscopy by having them drink vast amounts of IV fluids called Lactated Ringer’s solution, sit on a portable potty chair and stay there until what came out was the same color as what they were swallowing. And he wondered why he seldom had patients return to him after leaving the hospital? I believe most of them didn’t punch him out, right there in the hospital because they were too weak to stand.

It’s difficult for me to think of any medical condition that brings joy to the patient unless it would be childbirth and that is joyous only after the arrival of the wee one. That’s not to say the conception wasn’t joyous; it’s just that nine months in between topped off by the passage of an object the size of a watermelon through a “keyhole.”

That’s why it’s of vital importance for each of us to see the humor in our various conditions. I have a rare condition of the cartilage that often turns my ears bright red and makes them stick out, can inflame and cause my nose to swell; now that I think of it I could be W.C. Fields. Do you remember him? I’m only acquainted with that gent from old movies on television. When you throw in many of the unusual rashes those of us with rheumatoid conditions suffer, a limp or two and all the medications we choke down daily, it’s quite a picture. If it’s not funny, it’s tragic. I refuse to live my life as a Greek tragedy. I’ll choose a comedy every time; even if the rest of the world does think I’m a bit touched in the head.

Sometimes I laugh so hard I feel like I’m going to laugh my ass off…if only.

Get the latest health updates

Thanks for signing up!

Oops!

A system error was encountered. Please try again later.

Follow us on your favorite social network!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sue Falkner-Wood

Sue Falkner-Wood is a retired registered nurse living in Astoria, Ore., with her husband, who is also an R.N. Sue left nursing in 1990 due to chronic pain and other symptoms related to what was eventually...read more